A/N: So I decided to continue the story because of all the positive feedback! Thank you so much for all the helpful reviews! They were lovely :) I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as the first. It's a little bit shorter...not for any particular reason, it just sort of ended up that way. Plus, I do need to save up some material for the next chapter assuming this one goes well. Anyway...I'll shut up now so you can read. Enjoy!
Zero: Chapter 2
The dust ceased to rain. The sky above was now a dismal grey, dark and foreboding as if the atmosphere itself was in mourning. England watched figures blanketed in dust rise from the ground. He jumped as he noticed how well the victims blended into the pools of dust, he could scarcely notice their presence until they rose to their feet. They were like chameleons, blending in to their environment to fool predators. The few who had roused held their hands on top of their heads, mumbling desperate prayers underneath their breath. Some shook their heads hopelessly, sensing the horrendous loss of life around them.
The towers were gone, or that was what it appeared like. In truth, they were everywhere. They coated the streets, they coated vehicles, they were in England's hair, they were blanketing America's face, they were just simply everywhere. "No matter what they always stand together! Side by side! Cool don't you think?" America's voice echoed in England's head. "They're kinda like me and you."
Even though he wasn't awake, America's face contorted in pain, exposing obvious signs of trauma. His eyes were squeezed shut and he whimpered and moaned like he was suffering a nightmare.
At any given moment England was prepared for America to wake up. He felt that it was inevitable as he watched him thrash and kick invisible enemies. For a while, he just waited for him to rouse from his hallucinogenic trance. He tried to hold his hand but each time America would thrash in the opposite direction and his hand would slip, but each time England clasped it again. The older nation sighed, wishing he could chase away America's nightmare.
"What is going on inside that head of yours?" he whispered.
America found himself standing on the sidewalk of a busy street, the buzz of highway traffic ringing in his ear. The sun was beaming overhead strongly, its rays being absorbed by the faces below it. Pedestrians walked briskly by, some with their morning coffee in their hands and some with briefcases swinging by their sides. They all hurried to work in splendid oblivion.
A warm tug at his heart told America that he was in his capital, Washington D.C, a city he loved just as much as New York. There, stood an architectural marvel. It was a building of five sides and five stories, giving it its famous name, the Pentagon. Boxed in its epicenter was a lush courtyard blooming with verdant plant life. The sheer size of the Pentagon was what was most astounding. It stretched well over six million square feet of space, deeming it one of the world's largest office buildings. Nothing could have prevented America from grinning at the marvel.
On almost every side of the building was a parking lot. America watched from a distance as busy workers shut the doors of their cars and headed in to the office for the day, their keys dangling as they moved.
America sighed in satisfaction. The sun was shining, the sky was a perfect hue of blue and even a few birds were whistling. It was a beautiful day.
Above his head he heard the prominent sound of a jet streaming. Initially he thought nothing of it. The National Airport was nearby so there was no denying that the jet was coming in for a landing. But as if out of nowhere the sound of the jet grew louder and louder until it was screaming, just screaming. America quickly spun around, now expecting to see a fighter jet fly over. What he saw caused his stomach to drop and his face to go numb. His fear suddenly felt like something tangible swirling around him and sending shivers down his spine. He saw a split-second glimpse of a white commercial airliner, streaking low toward the Pentagon. Its wheels were up, clearly showing no intention of a safe landing. As if for only a tenth of a second America thought he saw silhouettes in the circular windows of the jet, in the back two rows. He couldn't make out whether they were male or female, but they were undeniably human beings.
The Pentagon was only about two hundred yards from where he stood. The jet only thirty feet above his head. It was nothing more than a guided missile at that point, heading full speed, full throttle towards the Pentagon.
In the last second before impact, the plane seemed to be floating as if it were a paper glider. And then, America couldn't even think to duck fast enough. Before the first onslaught of explosions the plane seemed to speed up before it came into contact with the earth. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. In rapid fire it struck five lamp poles, one after the other. The first came careening into an unsuspecting taxicab. The second flew into a patch of trees. The third struck the engine hard. The fourth caused smoke to billow from the damaged engine. America failed to see the fifth lamp pole fall as the impactful blast sent him several feet backwards from where he had been standing. The entire ground shook like Earth's tectonic plates were vibrating. The traffic around him stopped and every car seemed to move an entire foot to the right when the shock wave came shooting through.
America's glasses fell from his face and came crashing towards the pavement, shattering into pieces. He took in a deep fear filled gasp and inhaled jet fuel that choked and clogged his lungs.
Immediately, a ball of flame shot up the side of the building. It was a fireball, a huge, orange fireball. Following the aggressive flames was dark black smoke. It took the shape of a mushroom and billowed high up over the roof of the building.
Suddenly, a sharp stabbing pain ripped through America's abdomen as if a long metal sword had been slid into his core. He cried in terror from the death pains but more so from what was occurring before him. He could actually hear the metal going through the building, crunching and crashing. At that point the wings actually melted into the Pentagon and the tail of the plane slipped inside the building. It was so precise. The plane had completely disappeared into the Pentagon.
A field of flames erupted from the impact site. America gagged on the jet fuel in his lungs. When he could finally register the dread around him he lost the ability to control the tears stinging the corners of his eyes.
"Oh God…oh God…" he breathed. Flushing out his own pain from his mind, America listened to the screams of the people around him and the thumping of receding footfalls. He felt an overwhelming magnetic pull to the source of the danger. He had to see. There had to be someone he could save. Anyone. He dragged himself to the crash site, the pain in his core weighing him down. As he moved towards the flames he saw metal scraps littering the ground. A particularly long shiny one struck him as a piece of the wing. He gulped apprehensively and moved on, closer to the inferno.
Not thinking of his own well being, he dove into the flames. From a bystander's point of view it probably looked like an attempt at suicide. The weather suddenly took an abrupt change as it began to pour debris. The hot smoldering flames spat at America's skin. If the fire had teeth it would have swallowed him whole.
"Is…is anyone alive? Can anyone hear me? Anybody!" America was sure that his voice was lost in the crackling of flames and the fresh sounds of wailing sirens. The heat became unbearable and America was sure that he was dead.
America felt a cool sweaty hand encasing his. A fire seemed to smolder on his forehead. He howled at the flame burning in his core and the throbbing of his sides. He let loose a scratchy sob as the images of the Pentagon came flooding back into his psyche.
"Make it stop…make it stop…" he wept. His voice was gravely and thick.
An icy hand swept over America's forehead, wiping away the beads of perspiration forming.
America grabbed a handful of sheets with his freehand. Sheets? Why do I feel sheets? He thought.
"America…I know this is hard but try to relax for me, okay? You can open your eyes now," came a calm and soothing voice.
America slowly peeled his eyes open. They burned and itched and even teared from irritation but when they were at last open he was met with blindingly white walls. Was it a hospital? His gaze went quickly searching to the nation by his side, holding his hand.
"Hey there," he said. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?" England tried for a smile in attempt to comfort his former colony in trauma. But it was no use. He couldn't stretch his lips in that way, not when America was so disturbed with grief.
"England…" America began but immediately shut his mouth noticing how it was impossible for him to speak without squeaking with sobs.
England rested his cold hand on America's cheek. America gripped England's arm.
"It's okay, America. We don't have to talk."
Suddenly, out of the blue, America screamed. His chest erupted in agony and his heart raced so manically that it felt like his blood pumper was trying to escape from his throat. He pulled England close to him in a panic.
"It's happening again, England. It won't stop!" Then, the lights seemed to go out and America was consumed into darkness once more.
Once the darkness had cleared and the beautiful rays of sun shined their light on the world, America opened his eyes. He found himself standing soundly on a wide-open plain, watching white puffy clouds drift gently across the sky. Bordering the plain was thick forestland where pine trees stood tall and proud, their bristles swaying with the wind. Green and blue seemed to be the only color the eyes could perceive. The sky was a heavenly sapphire so clear and vivid. The plain was a sheet of glowing emeralds and the surrounding thicket was a sparkling sea of green. The air had a northern chill but it wasn't significant enough to cause a shiver. Again, it was a beautiful day.
America could have remained there for hours and been perfectly content. He sucked in a lungful of crisp air and slowly exhaled feeling his existence blend with his land, as it always should. He adored the east, not to say that he didn't cherish the west but there was something about the east that made his heart flutter. Perhaps it was the memory of his colonial days that were strangely a comfort to him. The days when England's visits were much more frequent…the days when he allowed himself to weep at England's absence. The east reminded him of the affection he held for his guardian, so overwhelming and bright. Now he was left to wonder how much he had hurt his beloved guardian by gaining independence. One does not stay a child forever, he reminded himself. It was time. I had to do it. He loves me no matter what.
America quickly snapped out of his thoughts, shaking his head with disapproval at the blush reddening on his cheeks. "I think I might be going soft," he whispered to himself with a short laugh.
Abruptly, a low buzz echoed throughout and America glanced skyward to see a spec of an airplane soaring in the distance. He smiled at the aircraft thinking of how majestic it was. That it had the ability to see the world from such an incredible vantage point. It glided through the air effortlessly, always pushing itself forward with unbelievable speed that could not be perceived with the human eye. America admired the way it rushed through the clouds, never looking back. "I could take some advice from an airplane..." he pondered aloud. "The past is the past."
With awe, America observed the plane. Ever so slowly it came closer and closer into his field of vision. Closer and closer, lower and lower. Lower? His thoughts raced in a panic. He used his hand as a visor and homed in carefully on the plane. The entire aircraft seemed to jerk to the side and plunge several feet lower. And again it jerked awkwardly to its other side until it became a back and fourth pattern. It tilted forwards, backwards, and side-to-side, taking occasional leaps upward and sporadic downward dives. The roar of the engine grew louder as the plane zoomed in closer.
"What the-" Suddenly the entire plane tilted so dramatically to the right that it nearly hung upside down. But just as quickly as it flipped one way, it flipped back the other way. "It's almost like…like people are fighting for control of the…"
A cold breath escaped his lips. His body grew recognizably numb with fear. The feeling was like déjà vu. "Oh no…" he moaned. Flashing before his eyes rapidly were images of crashing planes exploding into balls of fire. Two struck a pair of towers and one struck a massive building. The corresponding memories flooded back to his mind as if he were cured of amnesia.
Snapping back to reality he watched the struggling plane before him in horror. It continued to rock as if it were a ship sailing through choppy seas. It almost appeared hesitant as it came spiraling to the earth. Hesitant as if the passengers were leading some form of an attack.
Shaking from head to toe, America muttered prayers of desperation. "Keep fighting…keep fighting…" Hot tears spilled down his cheeks. "Don't give up…keep fighting."
The plane tilted dramatically to the right again and then back to the left. It bobbed up and down like a buoy in the water. Now the jet screamed as the plane appeared larger in America's eyes. "Don't stop fighting…just fight…fight!"
The jet took a startling jump downward and soon the entire aircraft was mere feet away from the earth and America. "Stop…" America said softly but sternly. The plane roared mockingly. "Stop…" he said again, sobs caught in the back of his throat. The air whooshed by the careening plane. The engine cried out. "Stop…." The nose of the plane prepared to come crashing into America who stood unmoving and resolute. Time slowed down and the white metal was about to explode into his skin. "I said…STOP IT!" His scream was lost in a vortex of red.
"Stop! Stop!" America screamed in a fitful trance. He thrashed back and fourth in a cramped hospital bed, throwing pillows and kicking blankets subconsciously. He breathed quickly and heavily as if he were suffocating. Fire burned behind his eyes and his chest smoldered with unbearable pain, aching and throbbing.
Then, as if out of nowhere, the chaos in his mind subsided. A soft loving hand on his cheek seemed to absorb the tormenting images for a moment. America's eyes shot open to see England hovering over him protectively.
"I'm right here," assured the older nation.
America looked up at England, letting all his sorrow show. He placed his hand over England's that rested upon his cheek. For another odd split second, America felt peace of mind. He squeezed England's hand tighter hoping to find more relief, but to his dismay there was none.
"England…" he breathed. "How could I let this happen?"
The older nation grew quiet.
"How did I not see it coming? How…how…? People are dead, England. Dead."
England suddenly pulled America's hand away from his cheek. He then moved it to America's chest and remained silent as if he were listening to some kind of song that only he could hear.
America stared back in confusion, his heart thudding against the palm of his hand.
"Do you feel it?" England asked.
America nodded, still in a state of bewilderment.
"Good." England placed his own hand over America's, letting the warmth spread over. "I know you, America…I know you better than anybody else…after today you'll make sure something like this never happens again. I know you will. Even as a kid you showed signs of such…such strength."
"England?"
"As long as that heart of yours keeps beating… nothing can stop you." He leaned in closer to whisper into America's ear. "Remember that."
A/N: Love it? Hate it? Let me know if it's worthy of a third chapter! Thanks for reading :)
